


Quo Vadimus

by violue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Past Castiel/Other(s), Past Dean/Other(s), Sports Night AU, Sports References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: Three hours until air time, and Dean and Castiel are both battling writer's block.





	Quo Vadimus

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Sports Night, which I just watched through twice in the past three weeks. Dan and Casey have such a great dynamic and I couldn't fight the urge to turn that into a Destiel AU any longer, even though I know literally nothing about sports or sports broadcasting. Quo Vadimus is the name of the last episode of Sports Night. :) 
> 
> Beta'd with love by [Lydie](https://www.redbubble.com/people/lydiejo) and [Kris](http://kelisab.tumblr.com/).

“Remember Darryl Strawberry?”

Dean’s eyebrows go up as he looks from his desk to Castiel’s. Suddenly he wants a strawberry shake. He’d yell for one, but the door to their office is closed and Dean’s lazy. “Do I _remember_ Darryl Strawberry?”

“Yeah, do you remember Darryl Strawberry?”

“Cas, I think everyone in this _building_ remembers Darryl Strawberry.”

Castiel is tapping a pen against his desk thoughtfully, because he’s handwriting his script like a cave person as always, while Dean types his thoughts up right onto his laptop.

And yet Castiel always seems to have a polished draft sooner than Dean does, go figure.

“I know, but do you _remember_ Darryl Strawberry?”

“Saying the same thing over and over with an emphasis on different words isn’t going to suddenly make it clearer,” Dean says. It’s too late in the day for this. Three more hours until showtime, and they’ve got nothing. They’ve got less than nothing. Slow news days are the worst, Dean ends up searching the couch cushions of his mind for sports trivia and _passion_ that on another day that would come to him easily in brilliant bursts of inspiration. Right now though? Nothing.

“I’m asking if you remember Darryl Strawberry.”

“Darryl Eugene Strawberry, former baseball legend, current anti-addiction minister, three hundred thirty-five home runs, mess of drug charges, three marriages… yeah, I remember him.”

“But do you remember what it was like to watch him play?”

“In the eighties?”

“Yes.”

“When I was at most ten?”

“You didn’t watch baseball when you were little? I know you did.”

“Not like I watch it now. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on when I was a kid, I just cheered when my dad did.”

“Strawberry was my father’s favorite for years, which was a big deal because my father was…”

“Racist?”

Castiel sighs. “Yes. When I was a child, I wanted to be Darryl Strawberry when I grew up, so my father would cheer for me the way he cheered for the Mets.”

“Your dad was a dick, Cas.”

“I know. But that feeling stayed with me a long time. It’s how I ended up in sports.”

Wait, what? “You told me you ended up in sports because you’re a fucking groupie for numbers.”

“That too.”

“Cas.” Castiel looks over, eyes piercing, always so piercing, Dean almost has to look away. “How did this not come up in the past twenty years?”

Castiel shrugs, fucking _shrugs_ like this vital piece of his origin story isn’t important information. “I just never brought it up.”

“You’re bringing it up now.”

“It came up in my appointment with Dr. Mills.”

“Your shrink.”

“Counselor.”

“Brain nanny.”

“That’s not even a phrase.”

“So your therapist helped you remember that you grew up wanting to be Darryl Strawberry?”

“I guess. It’s not a big deal.”

It feels like a big deal. This isn’t some minor bit of trivia like the day Dean realized Castiel sorts his M&M’s into separate colors and eats the piles in alphabetical order, this is a big piece of Castiel’s past.

“If you say so,” Dean says, because he doesn’t want to push. Sam says he’s too pushy, Dean’s trying to prove that wrong. “So why are you asking if I remember him?”

“I feel like I always saw him through rose-colored—”

“Strawberry colored.”

“Through rose-colored glasses, I feel like I ignored a lot of his flaws because of that image I had of him as the perfect baseball player.”

“Why him? Why not Hank Aaron or Babe Ruth?”

“Because my father liked him.”

“Still, you get anyone here to name the best ten… _fifty_ baseball players of all time, how many of them are gonna say Darryl Strawberry?”

Castiel puts his feet up on his desk and leans back; he’s wearing the Ninja Turtle socks Dean bought him as a joke two years ago. “Alright, alright, he’s not your favorite.”

“Is he yours?”

“He represents a large part of my past and my identity, but no, he’s not my favorite player.”

“So why the hell are we talking about him?”

“I read an article that he used to have sex between innings.”

Dean’s been sprawled out on the couch, mostly glaring at the blank document on the laptop he has sitting on the coffee table, but this grabs his attention enough for him to sit up. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How old’s the article?”

“It’s from last year.”

“How didn’t I know about it?”

Castiel shrugs. “I didn’t either.” He swings his legs off the desk and stands, padding over to the couch with his notebook and pen in hand. His jeans have an ink stain on one thigh in the shape of Mickey Mouse. How’d that happen?

“So he had sex between innings,” Dean says, scooting to make room for Castiel.

“Right in the clubhouse.”

“Must not have been very good sex.”

“Why?”

“How much sex can _you_ have in two and a half minutes?”

Castiel actually seems to be considering this. “I suppose if she were already undressed and sufficiently lubricated…”

Dean looks at Castiel with disgust. “Sufficiently lubricated? Stop, you’re gonna get me hard.”

“He was on cocaine too, maybe that helped with expedience.”

“Well I guess that’d be good for _him._ Feel bad for the poor girl that gets two minutes of friction and a ‘seeya later’ though.”

“I suppose they at least walked away with a good story.”

“About bad sex.”

“With a famous ballplayer. And fast sex isn’t always bad.”

“Like you’d know,” Dean says, nudging Castiel hard. He’s pretty sure Castiel hasn’t been on a date in a good eight months. Doesn’t even seem interested, really.

“I’ve had good, fast sex.”

“Yeah? With who?”

“That woman… uh, the one that worked in the mailroom and got caught stealing office supplies.”

“What, Meg? That was four years ago.”

“I said I had good, fast sex, I didn’t say it was recent.”

“You really fucked Meg in the mailroom,” Dean says, shaking his head. Castiel’s mentioned this a few times and Dean’s always in disbelief. He thought Meg was gay, for one thing, and Castiel throwing caution to the wind and fucking a woman right in the damn mailroom is hard to imagine.

Not that Dean spends any time trying to imagine Castiel having sex.

“You keep saying that like it will become more or less true if you just say it enough times.”

“So how long was it?”

“The sex?”

“No, your _dick._ Of course the sex.”

“Four minutes.”

“You guys both finished? In four minutes?”

“It was a marvel.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“So what was your fastest time?”

“We’re talking about this now?” Dean says.

Castiel shrugs and sets his notebook and pen down. “I guess. Unless you have some ideas for the show tonight.”

Dean really, really doesn’t. He’s not too worried though, the ideas always come. Late night will roll around, Dean and Castiel will be in their chairs with sports highlights and witty banter that’s only half as effortless as it looks. They always are.

“Alright. Amanda Heckerling, junior year of high school. We used to go at it like bunnies in the janitor’s closet instead of having lunch. Record time was seven minutes from door close to door open.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You’re calling stats for your own sexual exploits.”

“I’m an entertainer, Cas. It’s what I do.”

“I think you’ve mentioned that girl before.”

“Yeah, because I cheated on her and she slashed my tires.”

“Ahh yes. And that was the start of a charmed love life.”

“Hey I do okay,” Dean says. Which is true enough. The divorce from Billie was four years ago, Dean’s had one serious girlfriend and plenty of dates since then.

“Yes you do,” Castiel says, voice a little softer. “Better than me.”

“It’s not a race, man,” Dean says, though it physically pains him to admit that.

“Good, because I’m in no hurry to find that next conquest or whatever.”

“Why not? You’re rich, you’re hot, you’re on TV!”

“I feel like you’re just talking about yourself at this point.”

“Could be. Still applies to you.”

“I’m not that rich.”

“Richer than you were in college.”

“Still. I’m not really… I’m just not feeling it right now.”

Castiel’s looking off to the side slightly like he does when he’s lying to Dean. The fuck is he lying about? “You’re not feeling it right now? So, no one you’re interested in?”

“Not at present.”

Dean narrows his eyes. Oh yeah, this fucker’s hiding something. “Bullshit.”

Castiel jumps slightly in his seat and looks at Dean. “It’s not.”

“Mhmm. Look at you, you’ve got secret crush written all over your face.”

“How did we get from Darryl Strawberry to you accusing me of having a secret crush?”

Dean grins. “Life’s like that sometimes.”

“Right. Well we’re not getting any writing done like this.”

“Oh _now_ you don’t wanna talk.”

“Apparently.” Castiel starts to stand, and Dean leaps over him, pinning him to the couch. It’s just like roughhousing in college, except now Dean’s pushing forty and something in his back just popped out of alignment… or back into alignment, he can’t tell.

“I’ll let you up if you tell me who you have a crush on.”

Castiel glares. “Are we in high school?”

“No. And if we were, I’d be stuffing you into your locker, you geek.”

“Even in high school I’m sure I could have kicked your ass,” Castiel says, bristling.

“First of all, I doubt it, second of all, what do you mean _even in high school_? _That_ suggests that you think you could kick my ass now.”

“I’ve won every arm wrestling challenge you’ve issued.”

“Doesn’t mean you could kick my ass.”

“It’s a strong point in my favor.”

They both fall silent for a moment, and Dean realizes that right now he’s a guy pinning his best friend down to a couch for no real reason. He might be too old for this shit. And yet…

Castiel’s blushing.

Dean’s on top of him, and Castiel is _blushing._

Now Dean’s having _thoughts,_ thoughts which he has from time to time but mostly ignores, because why fuck up a solid partnership with passing feelings of love, lust, and all that messy shit in between. The thoughts have come and gone over the years, but...

There was never a time where Dean gave serious consideration to the idea that maybe he _wasn’t_ the only one with those feelings.

Maybe he should have.

Maybe the guy that’s been with him through college, through Dean’s wedding, divorce, through Sam’s rehab, through his father’s funeral… maybe…

“Dean?” Castiel says, voice tiny and afraid.

Almost involuntarily, Dean licks his lips. Castiel’s eyes track the motion. Oh wow. How long has this been there? Why is Dean just noticing now? Why did Dean think this was one sided?

He leans closer, slowly, and Castiel doesn’t move away. He just stares at Dean with wide, too blue eyes.

Dean’s had a lot of wild first kisses in his life. Pamela Barnes, who in the eighth grade grabbed Dean, pulled him into a kiss, and then punched him in the face and ran away. Kissing Lisa Braden for the first time while both of them were flipping out on some bad pot brownies. Gunner Lawless laying one on him during a mostly off-the-record interview. That first date with Billie, when Dean was convinced it had gone badly and she opted to show him the night wasn’t a lost cause.

Those moments all pale in comparison to that first touch of Castiel’s lips, the stunned and relieved noise he makes against Dean’s mouth. There’s no hesitation at that moment, his arms immediately wrap around Dean, one hand smoothing from Dean’s back to grip the back of his hair. There’s a bit of shuffling and shifting and then Castiel’s all the way on his back, one jean clad leg wrapped around Dean’s waist. Castiel kisses like he does nearly everything else he’s passionate about; with focus, with precision, with his entire being.

Dean’s overwhelmed.

He doesn’t ever want this to stop.

After probably three minutes of solid, _intense_ kissing, Castiel finally pulls back to look Dean in the eye.

“I didn’t think…”

Dean nods. “I didn’t either. How come you never…”

“I didn’t want—”

“Yeah, me either.”

Dean brings their mouths back together, desperation clawing its way to the surface. There’s a spell cast on this room, he’s afraid of never having this moment again.

“ _Cas_ ,” he groans in between kisses, shuddering when he feels Castiel’s hard length against his hip. Ten minutes ago he didn’t even know this was on the table, and now it’s happening. Castiel’s tongue is in Dean’s mouth. Castiel’s got one hand on Dean’s ass.

Dean’s suddenly a fan of slow news days.

They rut against each other, artless, _glorious,_ chasing release as much as they’re chasing each other’s mouths. It’s juvenile, dry humping on a couch like this, but damn if it doesn’t feel awesome. Castiel breaks their kiss, and Dean feels the scratch of stubble against his jaw as Castiel tilts his head to lay kisses down the side of Dean’s neck, and that’s when Dean decides this needs to go just a little further. He braces more of his weight on his knees so he can get a hand free and pull at the button to Castiel’s jeans. The wet, biting kisses to Dean’s neck don’t stop, but Castiel does move his hands down to aid Dean in getting his pants open, moaning when Dean gets a hand on his dick to pull it out of his boxers. Dean spares a few seconds to think about the fact that he’s _holding Castiel’s dick, holy shit,_ and by the time he checks back in, his own pants are open as well. They can’t do much without lube, but God, just touching Castiel like this...

Once he has Dean’s dick in his hand, Castiel takes the opportunity to bite down on Dean’s neck in a hard, sucking kiss. Ah, shit. That’s going to bruise, Donna over in makeup is going to be pissed. Dean doesn’t care though, he’s a huge fan of hickeys, and the fact that Castiel wants to leave a mark on Dean is… is…

Dean comes then, cursing and moaning into the side of Castiel’s face. That happened a little sooner than expected. It doesn’t matter though, because within seconds Castiel is chanting Dean’s name, voice pitching just a little higher each time he says it.

“Dean, _Dean, Deeeaaan._ ” Castiel pulls away from Dean’s neck, head tilting back, mouth open in a silent cry as he comes.

“That’s right, that’s right,” Dean mutters, moving back in for another kiss, and another, and another, just in case this is all he gets, in case this moment ends and nothing is ever right again. Castiel is receptive to each kiss, even as he’s panting through the last shocks of his orgasm.

Finally Dean pulls away, arms and knees aching. Castiel’s clothes are a fucking mess with both their come. Gross and thrilling.

“Whoops,” he says, grimacing.

Castiel looks down at his shirt and jeans. “Oh dear.”

“At least we hadn’t been through wardrobe, right?” Dean says with a smile. Castiel once spilled coffee on his shirt at five minutes to air, Charlie had pitched a fit.

“Mhmm,” Castiel says, voice fond. “Though I have no idea how I’ll hide this in the meantime.” They both wipe their hands on Castiel’s shirt, since it’s already a loss. Castiel pulls the shirt and his jeans off while Dean tucks himself away.

“Don’t even worry, we’ll clean up what we can and spill some coke on your clothes or something. People will just think you’re a klutz.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “You certainly had that option locked and loaded. Is this something you’ve done before?”

Dean bites his lip on a grin. “When you grow up with nosy fucks like Sam and Adam, sometimes you gotta get creative.”

“Very clever. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, not quite as fast as ol’ Strawberry, huh?” Dean says as they both sit awkwardly on the couch. It’s time for the real world to come back, loathe as he is to admit it. They still have a script to write, a show to do, a meeting with Bobby in the morning.

“Not quite,” Castiel agrees.

“So, um…”

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” Castiel says suddenly, looking almost defiant. God he’s brave. Dean wanted to say it, but he wouldn’t have.

“Me neither, Cas,” Dean says, sagging with relief.

“Really?”

“I’m… there’s been so many…” Dean sighs. “Yeah, really.”

“Good.”

They grin at each other, and Dean feels like his heart is about to sprout wings and fly right out of the room.

“So you wanna get back to work, or make out some more?” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows.

Castiel, still half dressed and probably in need of some hand washing just like Dean, reaches for his notebook and pen. “We’re professionals, Dean. We get back to work.”

“How about three pages, _then_ we make out some more?” Dean tries.

Castiel winks. Dean’s never seen him wink in his fucking life. Fuck, today is awesome. “You’ve got a deal.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Supposed to be working on my DCBB, but this came out instead. Oops.


End file.
